


Gravedigger's Battle Drabbles, One shots and Missing Scenes

by naturesinmyeye



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Babies, Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 14:59:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4226247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturesinmyeye/pseuds/naturesinmyeye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Companion drabbles to my story, Gravedigger's Battle. Fun with Sandor and Idla's children, or missing scenes from the story. I will label chapters "family moments" or "missing scenes" to try and keep things straight. Ridiculous amounts of fluff and toddler talk. Drama and angst moments too. Expect anything really. G-M in rating based on language and probably eventual smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family Moments

He’d been dreaming. A warm, soothing dream, swirling with laughter and cheer. It was a pleasant change of pace. Sleep usually brought nothing but an endless chasm of pitch black for him. It was boring, yet he’d gladly take that over the images he’d suffered through before Idla. Nights when wine couldn’t quiet his mind and he was faced with nothing but terror built from coals and crimson. This morning’s dreams were a far cry better than any of those. 

 

There was something tugging at him through the dream. Something off. Something real. The warmth of the dream became a living, breathing warmth. Delicate, slight puffs of air in his face. He cracked one eye open to catch a glimpse of Hyacinth peeking up over the side of the bed. Her eyes were shining with tears, her cheeks marked with the trails of wetness. 

 

“What’s wrong, flower?” he rasped, clearing his throat. 

 

“Mummy can’t find me,” she whispered. Such a small, gentle voice; barely making a dent in the air around it. Landon and she had just passed their fourth name day. She had hardly seemed to grow at all in the past two years; still a chubby faced sprite. 

 

“Why’s that?” 

 

“’Cos I split alda milk,” she trembled. He knew Idla would have scolded the girl perhaps, nothing more. Sometimes the trial of having so many young ones wore on her. He lost his patience as well at times. It came with being a parent. The sound of Idla’s boots clicking down the hallway sent Hyacinth into a panic; a squeak of fright leaving her. Her pale blue eyes pleaded with him, and damn it, he couldn’t say no to those eyes. He lifted the blanket and she grabbed at the sheets for leverage to pull her doll like frame up onto the bed. Once she was tucked tightly up against his chest he lowered the blanket back down on her just as Idla rounded the corner to their bedroom. He scratched at his face. Little hands clutched at him under the blanket. 

 

“Have you seen Hyacinth?” Idla asked, tapping a foot on the floor with her hands on her hips. He shrugged. Idla waited until the blanket wiggled. 

 

“You’ll spoil her,” she chided. 

 

“Worse things to be done to a girl,” he rumbled. Idla let her arms fall to her sides. She sighed taking in the full meaning of his words. He knew better than most that there were far more horrifying things for a girl to endure in life. He didn’t mean to undermine her; only remind her that there were more serious issues a girl could face in the world. The fact that he chose to indulge the little one’s need to find safety in her father’s arms wasn’t one of them. Idla stepped lightly over to them and lowered herself down to cuddle the lump in the bed between their two bodies. 

 

“Little flower,” she called sweetly. “The sun is out. Won’t you come out too?” 

There came a defiant, “no” from under the furs. He snorted. She was a fragile creature for him and a stubborn child for her mother. 

 

“Mummy is sorry she snapped,” Idla tried. “You didn’t finish your meal. There’s still berries and cream now that the milk’s gone.” 

 

A black mop of mussed hair sprang up from under the covers. “Berries an cream?” the girl clapped. 

 

“Yes, sweet one,” Idla told the girl, pulling her the rest of the way out from under the blanket. “After you’ve helped me clean up the mess.” Hyacinth twisted in Idla’s arms, looking back over at him and pouting. She could play him well, but not that easily. 

 

“Do as your mother says,” he told her. Her pout grew into an angry scowl. She was his daughter, no doubt about it. He kissed her nose. “Even flowers have to clean up after themselves. You make a mess, you help with the cleaning.”


	2. Family Moments

It never became an issue. His face. Not to the children. He’d worried about it to an almost obsessive level as Sanyi’s birth drew near. It was a new fear and one he wished would go away. He’d seen enough children on the streets turn their face, hide in their mother’s skirts, or take off in the opposite direction during his life. Even the Little Bird had shivered in front of him for a time. He didn’t think he could bear to see the same look come from his child’s eyes. He grew agitated over the course of a month as he stewed in his new fear. When Idla had finally pulled his worry from him, confessed by candlelight in the late night hours, he saw compassion and understanding in her gaze. The back of her hand came up to meet his scars and he leaned, gratefully, into it. 

 

“He won’t know the difference,” she told him, referring to the babe she insisted was a boy. “You’ll be one of the first faces he’ll see. He won’t know anything other then what you and I teach him the first few years. And when he gets old enough to listen to others, by then, he’ll love you just as much as I do. It won’t ever matter to him. You’ll see.”

 

She’d been right, of course. It never mattered to any of them. The first time Sanyi had smiled at him he knew he’d found his place in the world. Sometime between the boy’s first and second name day he had been holding the toddling babe while Idla tidied up the hut. Sanyi was smacking his palm to his rosy little lips, and flinging his hand back out at Idla shouting, “Ish!” 

 

Idla paused to blow the babe a kiss back and continued on until Sanyi would shout at her again. They giggled at each other. He turned the lad around to face him. 

 

“She’ll never be done if you keep doing that,” he scolded playfully. The boy only squealed in happiness at him. 

 

“Da!” the babe laughed. He found his cheeks being patted in a manner that was one shade away from hurting. The words to tell the boy to calm down were on the tip of his tongue when Sanyi placed his hands upon him much like Idla did, attempting to hold his face within minuscule fingers. And then the little one planted a wet, sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth, right where lips started to turn to twisted scar tissue. Sanyi’s laughter was loud and he was silent. There’d been enough hugs from the lad but never a kiss. His son saw him whole and untainted. He had to turn the boy over to Idla with haste. Lowering himself to the bed, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to keep the tears that had gathered from turning into something more. Tears didn’t come as often; he was growing more used to kindness and love due to the never ending fount of it that his family provided. But there were still those few rare moments when they could smother him with a force that was both glorious and wretched. 

 

He felt Idla’s hand in his hair. She whispered something to Sanyi and then the boy’s hand was smacking at his head as well. 

 

“Da!” Sanyi called, “huv you.”

 

He nodded his head to let them know he had heard. His breathing was harsh while he rode out the emotions his son had stirred within him. They were both patient with him; their fingers slipping through his hair while he cried. Once he was certain he could look at them without losing himself again, he stood. Kissing each one of their foreheads in turn, he spoke. 

 

“I love you too.”


	3. Family Moments

It was Landon that brought home the first bruised face. The boy had a fiery temper and was as big as Sanyi despite the four year difference. Sometimes he worried that perhaps he’d passed on too much of Gregor but Landon could be reasoned with. The boy would be your enemy one moment and your best friend the next. Gregor had certainly never had any friends. Landon was nine; a time when boys started to try and act like men, settling their disputes with fists.

 

Idla was dabbing at the boy’s face with a cloth in the kitchen. There were several ointments on the table at her side. She was looking at the lad in a flustered, motherly way when he came upon the two of them. Quintin and Abigal were tending to supper by the hearth. 

 

“What’s that about?” he questioned, pointing a finger at Landon’s busted lip and purple eye. 

 

“Your son got into a brawl,” Idla explained, a bit of anger in her voice. He cringed. They only became his children, and not theirs, when she was truly cross. 

 

“Why?” 

 

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Does it matter?”

 

“Aye,” he told her. “It matters.” There was a difference between boys settling petty quarrels and purposely seeking out the blood of others for no reason at all. 

 

“Fine,” she huffed and turned back to Landon. “What happened?”

 

“Braydon, said you were fucking a demon,” Landon stated, no shame in his voice. Abigal gasped. 

 

“Landon!” Idla hollered. “Language!” 

 

“You asked!” the boy shot back. “It wasn’t me who said it. It was Braydon Archer. Wash his mouth out if you don’t like it.” It was time for him to step in. 

 

“Boy,” he said sternly, “watch your tone. Aye, she asked. Doesn’t give you the right to talk at her like that. Do it again and you’ll give Quintin a break at dishes tonight.” 

 

Landon scuffed his shoe on the floor and lowered his head. “Sorry, mother,” the boy mumbled. Idla tsked and went back to scrubbing at the lad’s face. 

 

“What’s Braydon Archer look like?” 

 

Landon grinned, proudly. “Worse than me.”

 

“How worse?” 

 

“Two black eyes. Bloody nose too!” 

 

“Your son was only trying to defend you,” he tried to reason with Idla. But he caught the troubled look in her eyes. They hadn’t had these issues with Sanyi. The first born was stubborn, as all their children could be, but the young man wasn’t prone to fighting. He squatted down so he was level with Landon’s dark blue eyes. 

 

“Don’t go looking for fights. You want to protect your family? Use words first. You can’t get out of it that way, use what you have to. Make it hard and quick. Make sure he goes down and then leave him. Don’t ever kick at a man once he’s down. Don’t be cruel about it.” 

 

Idla nodded her head. She understood. The boy was too much like himself. He couldn’t tell the lad to stop. That would only make things worse. But he could try and guide Landon down the right path. One that involved less anger than the one he had chosen.


	4. Family Moments

It was a quiet evening. Idla was off somewhere with Jocelyn and Hyacinth. He was stretched out with a glass of wine in front of the great room’s fire place. Royston was near; playing with an odd assortment of toys his siblings had passed onto him. There was a dragon carved out of stone that Sanyi had left when he took off for his smithing apprenticeship. There were a few leather balls, a wooden horse, a fading picture book and, oddly, one of Lilac’s dolls. Landon and Clover lounged on the floor, using a pair of hounds as back rests. Landon was nose deep in a book for a once and Clover was busy stitching at a pillow case. He turned his head a bit to read the title of Landon’s book. Some sort of battle strategy guide. That explained it. The boy was thirteen and eager to turn squire. Lilac was seated near her younger brother, talking with him in hushed tones. 

 

Lilac was a gentle girl. All of his girls were a sight to behold; fair of face and quick of mind. They all seemed to embrace being women. There were no Arya Stark’s in his clan. Hyacinth was mischievous and daring but not boyish. Clover was talented in many ways and took after her mother with her thirst for knowledge. She could sew a far hand better than her mother could. Lilac though; Lilac was his little lady. She had her mother’s looks but not her spirit. Lilac was tame, thoughtful and kind. It made him often think of the Little Bird he once knew. It gave him pleasure to see this one being raised in a nest full of love, not a den prowling with lions. She was looking at him now carefully. 

 

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asked her, setting his cup down on a nearby table. She stood and approached him, chewing on her lip. Gods, she looked like her mother more and more everyday. 

 

“I know you said it was fire,” Lilac started, “But how?” 

 

He smiled ruefully. Of course it would be his gentlest child who would ask for details. She was done with the simple child’s answer he had given all of his children when they had eventually asked about his scars. 

 

“Come,” he bid her, holding out his arms. She crawled up into his lap. He knew the other children were all listening now except Royston who continued to babble to the dragon. They tried to act cunning, but Landon’s book pages no longer turned and Clover’s hands were still above her project. 

 

“You see your brother,” he asked Lilac. She nodded her head. “Sitting there playing with all your cast off toys? Do you feel anything about it?” 

 

She shrugged. “Happy, I guess. I don’t use it any more. He might as well play with it.” 

 

“And what if he took it straight from your room without asking?” 

 

“Then I might be angry.” 

 

“What would you do about it?” 

 

“I’d let him have it after I told him it was wrong to do. Or come get you to take it back. What’s this got to do with fires?” She was getting impatient but her thoughts made his heart soar. He’d done something right after all to get answers like that out of her. 

 

“I had a brother once,” he told the girl. “Older than me. Bigger too.” 

 

“Bigger than you!” she cried in shock. “You’re the biggest man ever da.” 

 

“My brother was larger and taller. A shocking mountain of a man. Even when we were young he was always towering over me.” 

 

“One day he was away and I got it into my head I wanted to play with one of his toys. I wasn’t trying to take it. Only play with it. I was sitting by one of the hearths and he caught me.” 

 

Lilac was too lamb like to even consider what might have come next in the story. Landon had it though. 

 

“Did he . . .” the boy asked, catching the fierce look in his father’s eyes. “Bugger me!” 

 

“Landon! Language!” he reprimanded. “There are ladies present.” 

 

“Sorry!” the boy yelped. 

 

“I don’t understand,” Lilac whined. 

 

“My brother was an awful man. Wicked and evil. He scooped me up and stuck my face down in the coals to teach me not to touch his things.” 

 

Lilac clapped her hands over her mouth. Landon cursed again, behind the cover of the book, and he didn’t correct the lad. Clover’s fingers and chin trembled. 

 

“Your own brother did it?” Lilac cried, while her hands began to from fists around the fabric of her dress.

 

“Aye, little blossom. The world isn’t all pretty,” he told her while he smoothed her hair. Fat tears fell from her eyes. Clover sniffed and made her way over. Both girls hugged him while Landon picked Royston up, tossing the babe up into the air and catching him again. Royston’s delighted squeals filled the room while he held his girls, promising them all was well. He had them and that made it all worth while.


	5. Family Moments

“A raven came.”

 

Idla’s voice called out to him while he sat in the study going over the figures in front of him. Lilac rested on her hip. He fucking hated numbers. He could read and write well enough, knew his houses and lands. Hell, he even knew some Low Valyrian from his travels, but numbers where a giant thorn in his arse. Idla had helped him with them when he first arrived in their new home, spending countless evenings showing him how the little columns could make other, larger numbers all hell bent on frustrating him. He’d gotten the hang of it eventually. Enough to keep the expenses straight and stop them from ending up in the poor house.

 

Her hand came over his shoulder to toss the letter in front of him before letting it settle on his shoulder. He was glad for the distraction. Lilac, just a few months past her third name day, cooed and pulled at his hair.

 

“Da!” the little girl shouted, swinging her self off of Idla’s hip a bit to shove her pretty face into his. “The bird ate all the corn!”  Her speech was further along than any of the other children’s at that age. His little lady learned quickly how to perform her curtsies.

 

“Did it, blossom? There’s more in the stables. Help your mother fetch it or tell Sanyi to take you.”

 

She leapt out of Idla’s arms into his lap and he caught her with a huff. Idla giggled behind him. “No, you!” Lilac argued, batting her eyes at him. She was worse than Hyacinth ever was at pulling his strings. “The bird bit me!” she pouted, trying to appeal to him through pity. She held up a finger for him to inspect. There wasn’t a thing wrong with it that he could see but he gave it a quick kiss anyway.

 

“Let me look at the letter,” he told her. “Then we’ll take a walk.” The girl clapped her hands excitedly.

 

“A quick one,” Idla amended. “Your da still has work to.” Lilac nodded her head in agreement. He turned his attention to the letter. The seal, unbroken, was that of House Stark and he knew there was only one person it could have come from.

 

“Do you want a minute alone?” Idla asked. She knew the Little Bird and he exchanged several ravens a year. He shook his head, running a finger under the cold wax to break the seal. Idla had never given him one moment of grief over his tie to Sansa after the night they had almost shattered one another at Winterfell. He didn’t give her reason to.

 

Lilac had taken up a dripping quill. Idla quickly, and thoughtfully, shoved a clean piece of parchment under the girl’s hands to keep her from ruining his progress. His eyes scanned over the note, then read it again, before he handed it over his shoulder to Idla. He heard her hum thoughtfully as she read it.

 

“She wants us to visit?” she questioned him. He wasn’t going to answer. There was a want inside him he couldn’t deny to see the Little Bird again. She would always remain important to him. Twice now in the past few years since winter broke, Sansa had stayed with them over night as she traveled, in duty, to the South to take part in the court there for several weeks. She had hugged them both with enthusiasm and marveled at the children he’d sired. She called them his “pups” and said Idla and he had produced a fine litter. It irked him a bit. Not enough to stifle the Little Bird’s happiness, she wasn’t doing it out of spite, but he disliked it all the same.  He'd worked hard to bury the Hound. He wasn’t a dog and neither were his children. Idla seemed to understand and always called each by name. If, anything, they were simply “the children” to his wife.

 

Idla proved, once again, her deep understanding of his nature. She waited a few moments but when he didn’t offer her an answer she knew the choice was hers. She would always be the one to lift him up or break him.

 

“I suppose the children could do with an adventure,” she started. “Lilac is old enough to travel the distance. And my moonblood came last week. We’re all fit for a journey,” she said a bit sadly. They were constantly busy with their five children from sun up to sun down but that didn’t stop them from hoping for a sixth. “It would be nice to see Eddard again. Sanyi and Hyacinth talk about him,” she continued.

 

“Merkel and Shull can keep things running for awhile,” he reasoned, warmth taking him that she was open to the idea of another visit to Winterfell.

 

“Write the Lady back,” she told him, kissing his hair. “Tell her we’d love to see her and to expect us within a month.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . so that's my thoughts on "pups". Cool if that's your thing. I won't ever flame you for it but it's not mine. I don't like to say never but I can't ever see this happening in one of my fics.


	6. Family Moments

Sanyi cried out in the night. Shrill, hungry wails that seemed to shake the roof. He heard Idla groan and, with a tremendous amount of guilt, kept his eyes shut. The truth of the matter was he was scared out of his mind at the thought of holding the babe. It was so small! There was no way in all the Seven Hells he could hold something that fragile without breaking it. Old doubts and names circled through his head. Words like huge and large could be damaging when paired with others like clumsy, lumbering and thick headed. Idla marveled at his strength but he knew what his hands had done in the past. It didn’t seem right to taint the innocent babe with his touch. 

He waited until he felt Idla slip back into bed. There was movement as she shrugged her night gown down and then the happy noises of a feeding babe. It made his stomach clench in a powerful way. Almost arousing but not quite. Only then, when he heard her sigh sleepily with the boy at her breast, did he roll over and open his eyes. She glared at him and he knew he wasn’t fooling her any longer. He didn’t have words for her, hanging his head in shame and picking at some imagined flaw in the furs. Her fingers dug under his chin, forcing him to look up at her. She was looking at him critically, but he also saw love in her gaze. 

“You haven’t held him,” she stated, getting right to the point. “You’ve barely touched him. Is there something wrong with him?” she questioned knowing full well he felt the complete opposite. 

“No,” he said shaking his head, eyes glancing quickly over the tiny bundle at her breast. “He’s perfect. Too perfect.” 

“And?” she pushed him. She was going to make him say it out loud. He hated it when she did this and loved her all the more after. It made it mean something more when she bid him to say the words out loud and then comforted him with her own. 

“And I’m not,” he grumbled, pulling hairs from the fur in his agitation. 

“Neither am I,” she told him with authority. “Neither is the little one. His swaddling clothes smell horrible.” He looked up at her in shock only to see her smiling brilliantly at him. He laughed at her teasing assessment of the boy. 

“None of us is perfect,” she assured him. “We’ll be imperfect together. And that will make us perfect for each other. You need to hold your son.” Sanyi had drifted off to sleep still pressed to her body. The little one’s mouth hung open while his mother’s milk spilled down his cheek. 

“Sit up a bit,” she instructed him. “You’ve done this before with baby Edgar. It’s exactly the same. And Sanyi’s dead to the world right now. He won’t fuss for you. He’s too drunk on milk to do anything but sleep.” She pulled the babe gently from her breast and there was an audible, wet noise as the last of her slipped from his son’s mouth. He could see the slick wetness and milk left on her, his cock giving an approving nod. Was it wrong to want to lick the traces of it from her skin, cleaning her himself instead of the rag she kept nearby for such purposes? He’d ask her later. Now he was too busy watching her move his hands closer together so she could softly lay Sanyi in his arms. 

The boy hardly stirred at all just as she said. There was a little shuddering sigh from the lad and then he felt his heart burst when the babe nuzzled into his chest. Nothing bad had happened as he had feared. The child didn’t shrivel up in his arms or scream in terror at his face. He looked to Idla and back at the boy. Several times his glance darted between the two of them while his eyes filled with water. 

“It’s alright,” Idla soothed, kissing his cheek, his brow, his temple. “He’s fine. You’re fine. You’re doing everything right.” She wiped the tears that escaped on his face with her own hands while he kept his securely under their son. 

“Here,” she told him, placing a small cloth on his shoulder and helping him lift the boy so he rested upright on his chest. “There’s air in him after he feeds. Pat his back and it will help him sleep better.” He had seen her do it often enough and tried to copy what he had observed her doing. He asked her with his eyes if he was doing it correctly.

“That’s fine,” she praised him. “You can go harder if you want. You know how to be gentle when you think about it. You’re hardly touching him at all now. I promise you can be a bit firmer. It will help him.” He put more pressure into the light thumps on the babe’s back and heard a sudden, gurgling hiccup near his ear. Idla laughed and smiled at him again. 

“That should do it,” she giggled. “Do you want me to lay him back down?” 

He shook his head. Now that he had gotten over the hurdle of holding his son he never wanted to let him go. Shifting and twisting he managed to work his body back down onto the bed without moving the infant still lost in slumber on his bare chest. Idla nodded and washed herself clean before tying her night gown back up. She pushed at his arm until he lifted it for her to crawl in beside him. Idla’s head on his shoulder and babe on his chest, he stayed awake for hours, amazed at the two of them sleeping peacefully on top of him. When dawn crept over the horizon, and Sanyi stirred, Idla’s eyes opened immediately. She took the babe from him, observing his red, tired eyes and tsked at him before kissing him deeply. She fed Sanyi and dressed quickly. 

“Sleep,” she told him, love and admiration filling her voice. “We’re going to go visit the women and the Elder Brother. We won’t be back for hours.” She kissed his forehead and he fell asleep before the door shut behind her.


	7. Missing Scene

They had been married for a year. He’d had Maester Ulchard help him count out the days correctly. Idla knew it as well from lessons she’d learned long ago under the old man’s guidance. She had used some of her saved coin to buy him a new pair of boots, supple and black, with clasps in the shape of a horse’s head that had come from a silversmith. She’d also presented him with tiny woven blankets Jocelyn and Hattie had helped her to create, placing his hand over her growing belly and telling him to save them to wrap his son in.

Idla was at least seven months along. Perhaps at the cusp of her eighth. It was a bit hard to tell since they didn’t know the exact month of their little one’s creation. But the large bulge in her belly indicated they wouldn’t have much longer to wait. He had marveled at every stage of the babe’s growth. A few weeks after they returned from Winterfell he pressed his finger tips to the tiniest swell that had started in her womb. Two months later he cradled a small lump in both his hands. A month after that he flattened his palm against tight skin that fluttered gently under his touch. And now she seemed to grow with each passing week. He wasn’t sure at all how her body could contain the life within it without bursting. He rubbed oil over her stretched belly and pressed lightly at the bumps from an errant foot or elbow he could see moving within her, laughing when he was poked back.

He took her at every opportunity. Whenever she would have him which was often. The sight of her love for him growing and changing her body made him hard at all hours of the day and night. He hovered above her the first few months; she felt ill sometimes and he was mindful of the babe within her. She had giggled and told him he could press himself to her, assuring him he wouldn’t crush what was protected by her own body. He couldn’t find the courage to risk it. As she grew bigger, the sickness in her stomach relented and her appetite for both food and coupling surpassed his own. He flipped her over on top of him, letting her ride him all she liked, basking in her throaty calls of pleasure and the small ball that bounced on his abdomen with each thrust from his cock.

Now a days he laid her on her side and entered from behind. Her breasts had swollen as well, warm and heavy in his hands. She didn’t like them bit any more but adored it when he rubbed at them for her. He would smooth his hands over all the new curves she had to offer him while sliding into a heat that scorched his cock from root to tip. She was always burning and slippery for him now with barely any effort on his part. Most nights it made him spill within minutes. She was so wet, hot and beautiful in her new body that he couldn’t help it. He would fantasize about her all day, try not to grow hard at the final meal’s table, and take her almost immediately after they returned to his hut together at day’s end. Sometimes he couldn’t wait. He simply couldn’t. He’d make some sort of excuse to drag her out of the sick house during the day or share a knowing look with her at dinner, before leaving their half finished plates and taking to their hut with haste. A few times he’d had her on the beds of the sick room when it had been empty save for her. Every time she would smile at him and take him into her, gasping his name and mewling out her bliss. He went slowly, always slowly, and each drag of her walls against his cock sent him hurtling towards a body wracking conclusion too soon. Sometimes she managed to join him. Other times he would take a moment to recover and then use his fingers or mouth on her to ease her ache.

She had given him so much. He felt a desperate need to communicate that to her somehow. The idea itself of what to give her on their first anniversary had come to him with ease but the effort involved in bringing it to life took months. Winter was close and soon the trips to their meadow would offer them nothing but a view of ice and snow. He wanted to preserve those first few months of flowers and passion for her. She was fond of perfume. Perhaps he could bottle a first kiss, love making that had shown him his worth and their honest marriage vows if he were careful and took his time.

First, he had to share his plan with Maester Ulchard; gaining equipment and knowledge from him in secret. The Elder Brother was his second confidant. The man whom he considered a true brother let him set up a small table in the corner of his room for jars and screens, bags made of thin, brown paper and twine. There was no way for him to work on the project within the walls of the sick house without Idla finding out. It wasn’t terribly difficult to find time during the day to work. Idla was usually always busy from the first meal to the last. He rode out to the meadow on Stranger, collecting whatever flower, leaf or grass caught his eye. He would crush it in his palm, sniffing and placing those that seemed best into mesh bags to take back with him. He wasn’t particular in the beginning. Fearing frost at any time he grabbed whatever smelled anything near alluring, drying his finds on the screens given to him by the Maester and placing them into the paper bags for storage.

When it came time to finally start blending a scent, the Maester gave him a jar of potent, clear alcohol. It smelled faintly sweet but burned at the hairs inside his nose. The Maester had laughed at his snorting sneezes, telling him most of the alcohol would wick away into the air leaving only the essence of whatever he chose in a little liquid that remained. The next step was harder. He would sniff at one of his saved paper bags and then another, trying to blend the scents quickly with his nose alone. The Elder Brother tried to help though he was cautioned that the robed man didn’t know Idla’s preferences. The Brother could only tell him what pleased his own nose.

The Maester had told him he could blend scents for as long as he wished for up to a month. Each day he would need to add his chosen dried item, let it sit for a day and then use muslin to strain the debris out of the clear alcohol. Whatever items he placed in it most often would be the main notes of the fragrance. The ones he added towards the end would be subtle and help to balance the stronger scents. When it was all finished he could bottle the liquid that remained. The Maester had passed him several small, light green bottles, saying Idla had always seemed to like the color.

He started with water lilies. There had been an abundance of them when he first started his task, lazily floating in the pool of water of their secret inlet. He had to fashion a net in order to drag a decent harvest of them to him on the shore. Next came a small hoard of purple blazing stars and tiny buds of honey suckle; the last he would see for years most likely. He’d found a tiny cluster of peonies and added just a few. They had a strong, eager scent that was pleasing but could also easily overpower. He kept at the flower mix for a fortnight before moving on. Rosemary came next. Again just a hint; a reminder of a day that had crumbled his walls and let her in. The last item to go in was the dried needles of the fir trees found set back a bit from their field. Those trees had shaded and protected them while they had lain naked in each others arms.

They had married under a walnut tree and though the leaves didn’t make for any true scent, there had been a harvest of nuts to fall while he worked on her perfume. Alva helped him to crack and clean them. She showed him how to coat them with honey and cinnamon and then set them to baking until they had crisped into a sugary, crunchy treat. Once the perfume was ready he had carefully funneled the result into three bottles, corking them tightly. The scent was a heady mix of meadow flowers with just a hint of wooded spice from the added herb and pine. It was a bit bolder than her usual perfume but it wasn’t so strong as to be offensive.

When he presented her with the gifts he’d gleaned from their hidden field of secrets and love she had cried. Happy tears of course. He was learning. She shook her head at him in a gesture he knew was amazement, holding his offerings with reverence and wetly gasping that he was truly a wonderful man. She had looked into his eyes deeply, kissed him with more depth and taken him into her in the deepest way possible.

The candied walnuts were gone within days. She tried to savor them but her body craved sweets voraciously with the babe growing in her. Two of the bottles of perfume she sealed with wax and tucked away in her chest. She had loved the scent immediately. Every time he saw her use it, her eyes would water and she would smile in a small knowing way. She used it sparingly; when she was feeling particularly happy to help her celebrate but also when she was saddened to try and comfort herself. Once the first bottle was gone she waited an entire year before opening a new one. On their third anniversary he noted with pride. She would sit and sniff at the little bottle, closing her eyes to the snow around them and dreaming of meadows for a short while. He did the same when he caught the scent on her wrists or neck. The third bottle was opened when the snow began to melt. When she used it that time around it was with more frequency and with a heavier hand. The anticipation of more flowers, fields and children urged her to use the last bottle up.

Sanyi was the only one to raise his eyebrows when the other children spoke warmly of their mother’s scent. The other children would say Idla smelled of hyacinth which, of course, would send them all into peals of laughter; because Hyacinth always smelled like lilac and Lilac preferred to wear the rose’s scent. Following that logic, the children made a game of guessing who smelled like whom. Sanyi would never join in on the game though, telling them they were all mad. _His_  mother smelled of blazing stars and fir trees.


	8. Family Moments

“Come on then, you old beast,” he grumbled to Dog. They had never let the animal sleep in their bed in its first years with them. But as Dog aged it wanted to be near them more and more. Gray whiskers grew on the furred chin of his friend. The dark, brown eyes seemed to always look tired and sad anymore. 

He lifted Dog up onto the bed he and Idla shared. Idla sat up from her pillow and gave the old mutt a gentle pat on the head. Dog had lost the ability to climb stairs and up onto the bed over the last year. Every morning, he carefully carried the hound down the stairs of their home to the yard outside. Every evening, he scooped the dog up from the floor by the main room’s hearth and brought him up to rest on the soft feathered bed near their feet. 

They had shared Dog’s company for twelve years now; an incredible age for a found stray. There was no way of telling how old he had been when he first landed on their doorstep on the Quiet Isle. Dog had been a loyal companion, friendly and happy to all. Sanyi’s first brother was Dog. Since they had decided to wait until after winter to have more children, Dog became Sanyi’s first playmate. Dog was the one who taught Sanyi to roll, skip and run. Dog was always there to lick the tears off of a scolded child’s face. The hound also proved him self useful in hunting. Some of the boy’s first fruitful hunts of partridge and pigeons had been aided by Dog’s skilled flushing of the nearby bushes. 

The next morning he knew before he had a chance to look. The lump at his feet was cold not warm. He sighed deeply before opening his eyes. He had known it was going to be soon but that still didn’t make the event any easier. Taking a moment to rub at the poor dead beast’s head, he then tried to wrap the animal up quietly in an old blanket found in their cedar chest. Idla and the children didn’t need to see the faithful dog’s limp and lifeless body. He made it to the door before Idla woke, calling out to him to stop. She rose from the bed and lifted the corner of the bundle in his arms. Her chin trembled as she ran a finger down Dog’s muzzle and then she covered him back up. 

“Put him in the yard,” she bid him. “Under the oak tree. The children will want to say good bye and bury him. We’ll tell them after the first meal.” 

They did so. All of the children had sniffled and bawled in turn. He had held strong with only a lump in his throat until he had five weeping children surrounding him as he dug a hole in the earth. He was never allowed to bury any of the hounds of his youth. He had cried once over a lost animal. Gregor had called him a sniveling cunt. His father had beat him for his tears and a young Tywin Lannister had made him drown one young pup and then another until he learned to do it without crying. Soldiers never cried he was told and they didn’t care for the beasts of the land. Anytime a favorite animal passed after that he bit at his tongue till it bled so as not to be forced to kill anymore because of his grief. 

He didn’t have to swallow blood and sorrow now. He didn’t bawl like the children but he did have to swipe at his eyes a few times. It was hard to lose a friend of a dozen years, human or not. Sanyi and Landon laid Dog down into the ground and Hyacinth asked for the shovel. She was the first to throw earth on their pet. Each child took a turn after her. They all shared in the burden. The youngest, Clover and Lilac, could barely hold the spade so they tossed in handfuls of dirt together. As a family they worked, and as a family they grieved.


End file.
